Rust or Gold
by MoonWallker
Summary: Prowl and Jazz struggle to survive in a harsh and cold world as their sparks find reprieve in each other. But the more you get closer to something, the more it'll hurt when it's taken away from you.
1. Friend

AN: I wrote this months ago but finally decided to post it.

AU noble 'verse. Hope you like :) It's not beta'd and I apologize for the possible typos.

Transformers doesn't belong to me.

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Rust or Gold

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A noise startled Jazz from his task of cleaning the floor. He looked around, trying to determine where the source of the sound came before he heard shifting in the kitchen. It was late, there weren't supposed to be any mechs there at this time of the night. The only reason why Jazz was even awake right now was due to his punishment.

Grateful to have a reason to straighten his back, Jazz dropped the rag and carefully peaked around the corner. He was a small youngling and that enabled him to be mostly undetected sneaking around the house when mischievous serge took over.

As he looked into the dim room, he saw another youngling there, trembling and making distressed noises because of the broken cube on the floor, the pink energon splattered all over the place. Jazz had never seen him before, he probably was newly bought and for a moment, he couldn't help but pity his age-mate for the Lord's house he got stuck in. Where they both were stuck in.

His sensitive hearing, a glitch due to the cheap material his frame was made of, told Jazz that they would have company soon. He saw as the door-wings of the other youngling (door-wings?! Fascinating!) shot straight up and he looked at the door. Jazz jumped when young golden optics locked with his blue visor. The winged youngling took an instinctive step beck and slipped on the spilled energon, falling on his aft.

Jazz quickly made his way towards the youngling on the ground, peaking curiously at him, noting their frame differences and how he still hadn't stopped trembling. Poor thing.

"Hey," Jazz whispered, "Ya have t'hide."

The golden optics brightened as they regarded the small youngling before him, "…N-no, the energon…!"

Jazz shook his head and reached to pull him up, "Yer new here. Ya don't want this to be yer first impression on them."

"But—"

Jazz placed a hand on the youngling's mouth, silencing him, "Ah'll fix it, jus' hide, kay?" He didn't even realize he was dragging the youngling to a cupboard before he actually opened it. Jazz made a shushing sound before he quietly closed the doors, the frightened optics following his every move through the small gap.

Jazz remembered when he was newly bought, how scary everything and everyone was so he understood perfectly. Back then, he could have really used the help.

Ex-venting, preparing himself for what was to come, Jazz patiently waited as the door to the kitchen opened and one of their masters walked in, optics instantly narrowing once they spotted the tiny youngling and spilled energon.

He would probably get a beating and the energon would be taken out of his refueling, so he'll go a couple of nights hungry, but it was better than to make a wrong first impression – they were everything in this house. Turning off his optics, Jazz felt the first hit of the many to come.

0000

His vents hiccupped.

Jazz really tried to be strong and brave. He really did, but it was just so hard sometimes. Lying on the crummy berth with his back to the world in the general barracks, where all the servants of the house rested, Jazz tried and failed to stop his little cries. His helm and left hand really hurt – actually, everything hurt. And he was so hungry.

Clicking distressed, he rubbed at his optics under the visor that just wouldn't stop crying, wanting the tears gone. Jazz wanted the proof of his weakness away. He felt someone gently tap at his shoulder and Jazz flinched, turning his teared up face towards the new youngling in the house.

"…What?" Jazz rasped after a moment of silence when the other didn't speak, rubbing at his optics more persistently.

The youngling looked at him worriedly, his door-wings trembling on his back. "Are… you okay?"

It was a stupid question and Jazz wanted to say just that in the current mood that he was in. But instead the youngling just sighed sadly and looked his companion over, "What's yer name?"

The winged youngling blinked, unsure as Jazz didn't answer his original question, "…Prowl." He lifted his hands by instinct to his chest and Jazz noticed that they were holding a small cube of energon. His tanks growled, starving.

"Ah'm Jazz." He sat up on the berth that seemed like it would fall apart any moment. The masters didn't want to waste an entire berth for someone as small as him so some of the kinder servants were generous enough to make him and impromptu berth (that were just a huge pile of old rags and pillows). "Nice to meet'cha."

Prowl looked at him sadly. It broke Jazz's spark seeing that look on someone else, but in his reality they all, himself included, wore it.

"Thank you for helping me." The words were surprise enough for Jazz, but what really shocked the tiny youngling was the fact that Prowl was offering him the cube. Here, were each drop of fuel was selfishly stored and protected.

"Prowl…" It took everything out of Jazz to not simply reach out and take the cube, gulping down its contents. His tanks growled again.

"I want you to have it." Prowl said very quietly as Jazz's surprised optics studied him, "It's because of me that they hurt you…"

Jazz looked at him sadly. He didn't want to tell Prowl that there would be an orn when they will raise their hand against him as well, and there would be nothing Jazz can do about it. Although the visored youngling suspected they already have. But not now, he wouldn't think about this now. Not when this youngling was in a desperate need of a friend. And so was Jazz.

Jazz scooted to the side on the small berth, making room for Prowl and gently patted the surface, inviting. The bigger youngling was unsure for a moment before he climbed up next to Jazz, able to see his dents and cracks in the armor more clearly up this close.

"I'm really sorry."

"Shush, it's nothin'." Jazz said quietly. After all, he's had worse but refused to say that out loud.

"I mean it." Prowl said and handed him the energon cube, "Take it."

Jazz licked his lips, hungry, and before he could stop himself he took the cube, bringing it so fast to his lips and drinking, that he actually chocked on it.

Concerned, Prowl instinctively placed a hand on his back but Jazz flinched and Prowl pulled away. Jazz quickly regained his composure and gave him the first grin of the night, "S'alright, wasn't being too careful there."

"Slowly." Prowl said very quietly.

Jazz did as told, taking the next few sips slower, relishing in the feeling of the fuel getting absorbed in his body. When he reached the half mark, he handed it back to Prowl with a gentle smile.

"Here," Jazz said, "You'll need it too." Prowl was probably hungry as well.

Unsure, but under Jazz's insistence, Prowl took the small cube back and drank it. They stood there in silence for what seemed like a long time. Until Jazz broke it by taking Prowl's right hand, examining it. Prowl flinched and pulled it back.

"Yer a new slave, ain't ya?" Jazz asked, no accusation or judgment in his voice.

Slowly, Prowl nodded and gave his hand back. Jazz looked it over and realized that Prowl is even more new to the slave world then he was, which was strange considering that the winged youngling seemed older.

"And you?" Prowl asked as gentle optics looked the tiny Jazz over again.

Jazz gave him a smirk that actually seemed pained as he handed him his own right hand. He watched as Prowl's optics widened at the many trade symbols there.

"...Eight? You've been sold eight times?" Prowl failed to hide the horror and fear in his voice, looking each different symbol over as they represented a House Jazz had belonged to.

Jazz shrugged. "Sparklin's an' younglin's are cheap an' a good bargain. They need a lot less energon than a fully grown mech."

"Seems logical." Prowl murmured, running his small white fingers over the glyphs. He remembered how much it hurt to have his only glyph imprinted, the sting of the hot metal….to have this done eight times… "You're very strange." He blurted out.

Jazz cocked his helm to the side, but a small honest smile was tugging his lips. He was amused, "Ah'm gonna take that as a compliment, Prowler."

Prowl blinked a couple of times, confused, "My name is Prowl, not Prowler."

"Ah know. That's yer nickname." Jazz declared, proud.

Instead of arguing, Prowl accepted this oddity of the other youngling. He looked at the big dent on Jazz's helm and gestured to it, "Does it hurt?"

Jazz lifted a hand to touch it, "Not really. Wha' hurts is mah left hand though." He showed the injured wrist, where one of the masters had pulled him too forcefully.

Out of pure youngling curiosity, Prowl reached out with a hand to run his little fingers over the wrist, and had Jazz instantly clicking in pain, cradling the hand to his chest. Prowl's wings shot up in worry and Jazz saw them tremble again.

"It'll be fine in a few orns." Jazz reassured but the other youngling didn't seem to believe him. The wings did not stop trembling. "Hey, Ah know it looks horrible but this place ain't so bad. We have ol' Ironhide and Chromia here with us."

"The bonded couple?" Prowl asked after a while.

"Yup," Jazz nodded, "And then there's this really nice medic that visits us from time to time and fixes us up! He's called Ratchet, ya might meet him next time he comes!"

Prowl gave the barest of smiles, the very first one Jazz saw on him.

"So what happened to ya?" Jazz asked quietly, wondering if Prowl would share this with him, "How did ya end up on th' slave market. There ain't no going back once you're up there with dat thin' branded on yer arm."

Prowl stared at the opposite wall for a long time. So long, that Jazz believed he wouldn't answer him, but the last moment, the Praxian spoke:

"I got lost from my creators. Then some mechs out of nowhere caught me. That was three months ago."

"Where were ya in the mean time?" Jazz found himself curious, leaning tiredly back on the rags, injured hand placed gingerly over his chest.

"The Market." Prowl answered simply and Jazz winced. No wonder this youngling was so spooked out of his mind. The Market was a scary place, for reasons which Jazz didn't want to contemplate.

"You have so many trade symbols." Prowl looked at them again, "H-how…?"

"Hey… hey." Jazz spoke gently, "Ah know it seems scary but… but once ya get used to it… it hurts less, y'know?"

"What happened to your creators?" The question had urgency in it, desperate optics looking at his small visor.

"Don't know." Jazz murmured, "Ah was sold pretty early. Barely remember them."

"Oh."

It had quieted down in the room around them. The tired and even exhausted servants, half of them under fueled, where all recharging in their berths, forgetting their troubles for the few blissful joors of sleep. Both younglings were nearly in recharge themselves, spent from the events of the orn.

Maybe it was the dull ache that was slowly passing away, or some sort of noise that prompted Jazz's visor to book up again and he nudged the youngling next to him.

"Hey Prowler…?"

"What?" Of course Prowl was a light sleeper. They all were.

"Wanna tell ya a secret? It really helps me in bad orns to think 'bout it – makes me feel… happy."

"What is it?" Prowl whispered, turning his helm to look at Jazz.

"Some orn… Ah'm gonna escape y'know? Ah really am. An' Ah'm gonna remove each an' every symbol from mah arm."

The Praxian just stared at the strange little youngling next to him. So small, so fragile… yet, it had this power of life that made Jazz seem _big_.

"I hope so, Jazz."

It made him seem alive.

"Ah know so. We can escape together if ya want?"

And strong. Stronger than Prowl thought he was.

"I… hope so." Prowl whispered and watched as his companion drifted off to sleep, oblivious to the power his words held.

And maybe_, just maybe_, Jazz was strong enough to change their fate.

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My first take on the noble 'verse. I wanted something different, so yeah :P Love, hate? ^^"


	2. To Protect

Rust or Gold

Chapter Two

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"Give it back!"

"Come and get it cry-baby!"

"I said _give it back!"_

Jazz was startled by the light doze of recharge from all the noise. He looked around, yet the room was still empty. But the shouting didn't stop and he realized it was coming from outside. Jazz made his way to the window, climbing on a chair and grasped the cold bars, peering in the back court yard of the house, where a small energon river passed through. He frowned at what he saw.

There was a crowd of younglings down there, all of them surrounding a well known pair - Broka and Prowl. And Prowl looked far from happy, as he tried to get something back from the other youngling. Jazz had seen enough; he jumped from the chair and raced down the hallways, intend on reaching Prowl as fast as possible.

Outside nothing much had changed:

"Give it back or—"

"Or what?" A bigger youngling, named Broka lifted the half full cube of energon way up out of Prowl's reach. The little Praxian's wings were quivering up and down, not clear whether they wanted to show the child's sadness at being teased or the unnatural anger he felt behind that fact.

"C'mon cry-baby! Come and get—" Broka's taunt was cut short as a rock collided hard to his helm with surprising accuracy.

"Now that ain't nice Broka. Ya shouldn't tease the young." Jazz smirked, causally throwing another rock in his hand, ready to attack again if needed. Inside he was relieved that he had come in time, before worse had happened.

"Jazz—" Prowl turned to look worriedly at his friend that was even smaller than him! If those bullies caught him-!

"Trash!" Broke growled, sitting up and holding his dented helm, "I should rip that visor of yours out!"

Jazz didn't seem too worried by the brutal threat: "You'll have to catch me first. And we all know ya can't. Didn't work out last time." He walked next to Prowl, brushing discreetly a sensor wing in their own personal greeting (Jazz even came up with a little dance routine that Prowl didn't want any part of.)

"You'll pay for this." The youngling growled. "The two of you won't see energon for orns because of this!"

Prowl's wings drooped even more as worry crept in his spark. And he would've stepped behind Jazz in reflex to shield himself, but he didn't need to. The smaller youngling, that barely reached Prowl's shoulders, stepped before Prowl, clearly unintimidated. With a cool visor Jazz stared at his opponent. Then, words that didn't belong in the mouth of a youngling so young echoed across the quiet grounds:

"You're such an idiot, Broka," Jazz said calmly, "Isn't the abuse we get every orn enough, that you have to seek out more?" He felt someone grasp his left hand and looked down, seeing Prowl's white hand over his black one. Jazz squeezed back. "Give him back the energon. You've had your fun for the orn."

"Jazz, it's okay." Prowl whispered in his audio, "Please, I don't want to get you in trouble…"

"Hush." Jazz didn't look away from Broka, "So?"

Broka glared as more younglings that had seen the commotion came to the back yard. He gazed back at the river, where a small bridge stood with a beautiful railing that the mistress of the house had custom-made. It was thin and uneven.

"I'll give it back if you can go to the other side of the river, walking on the railing, using only your pedes."

As expected, murmurs started in the small crowd of younglings and sparklings around them. It was forbidden to walk to the other side. They all knew it. Which is why Broka made that challenge.

Prowl resigned himself to an orn without fuel, but the surprisingly strong grip of Jazz on his hand made him look down at his shorter companion in confusion.

"Is that all?" Jazz's visor glinted. It was _that _look that made him stand out from the other younglings. They were all dull and gray, defeated and exhausted, but Jazz… Jazz was bright and colorful and filled with life. And Prowl would be damned, if Jazz got hurt because of him!

"Jazz, no!" Prowl hissed in his audio, "It's not worth it."

"Don't worry Prowler, I can handle this!"

Prowl suddenly tugged harder, enough to make Jazz turn and they were face to face, "If you fall, you will drown." Prowl whispered so only Jazz could hear him, "And even if you make it to the other side, if you get caught, the punishment will be severe… Please, for half a cube of energon, it's _not_ worth it!"

Younglings shouldn't say such things. They shouldn't have to decide if getting whipped is worth over a cube of energon. But there was no place for younglings here. Yes, they were in the frames of such, but the sparks that beat wildly with life in their small little chests were mature. They had grown up long before their time. They were adults, and perhaps, Jazz was the most adult of them all despite his carefree demeanor.

"I won't get caught!" Jazz tried to reassure him, "Trust me Prowler."

Prowl lowered his helm so that his little chevron rested on Jazz's forehead. "I trust you. It's them that I don't trust."

"It's goin' to be okay." Jazz whispered with a reassuring smile and Prowl briefly wondered where did he get the strength to smile.

"If your mushy moment is over, we're all waiting." Broka motioned at the bridge.

Helm high, Jazz walked next to the bully and stopped, "If Ah win, you will stop teasing Prowler." His optics narrowed, "Or else."

"Or else what?" Broka smirked.

Jazz shrugged, "That's for me to know and for you to find out." They entered in a stare-off, and the bigger bully suddenly felt uneasy at how calm the other youngling looked.

"Would you just do it already!"

Prowl's little wings were trembling in their nervousness for Jazz. He watched him gracefully climb up the railing and used his hands as leverage. He took a step forward. Then another. Slowly but surely, Jazz made his way. Prowl let a shaky breath. Jazz passed the middle. Hope kindled in his spark. Jazz would actually do it!

However it was short lived as a rock was thrown at Jazz. Luckily, the aim was off so it grazed his audio horn, making Jazz hiss in pain and waver dangerously. He turned back and yelled at Broka, "That's cheatin'!"

"You never said anything about rules!" The youngling yelled as another rock was thrown, this time hitting Jazz in the shoulder, nearly tipping him over. But before a third rock could be thrown, Broka found himself tackled to the ground.

Jazz could only blink in surprise along with the rest as Prowl, calm,_ sweet, Prowl_ growled and pinned the bigger frame of Broka. He looked up at Jazz and yelled, "Finish it!"

Smirking, Jazz nodded and resumed his walking.

However, Broka chose that moment to start wailing and yelling, wrestling Prowl. At the sudden increase of volume all of the other younglings scattered. It was never a good thing to get caught up in the middle of a brawl. And sure enough, disaster came.

"What the frag is going on here?!"

Jazz turned just in time to see a huge bulky guard mech lift Prowl from Broka and throw him away. A couple of _meters _away. Prowl cried out as he landed on his wings.

"Prowler!" Jazz yelled in worry.

"You!" The guard growled, noticing Jazz on the railing.

All of the commotion was too much for Jazz and the sudden below of the guard was enough to make Jazz loose his balance entirely. He fell with a splash in the river.

Panic. It was all Jazz could do. He felt the water sip into his ventilation system, felt how his engine started to choke. He wiggled, gasped for air that wasn't there. It was no use. He cried for help, voice silent and lost under all the water. And for a brief second, the treacherous thought of _'what's the point?'_ crossed his mind. He stopped struggling and felt himself sink.

What _was _the point? Existence was hell. There was nothing for him in this life. The world wouldn't miss one stupid youngling if he drowned this orn, would it? Yet, just as his vision was nearly blurred entirely, an image of a little Praxian appeared.

Prowl. He would leave Prowler all alone. He was all that Prowl had left. And… Prowl was all that Jazz had left as well.

Sudden vertigo stopped his train of thoughts. Jazz was above the water; someone was holding him by his ankle upside-down. A rather hard smack to his back had him cough and open his vents so that all of the water got expelled. He was still coughing when the grumbling guard plopped him like a sack of rocks next to Prowl.

Little trembling servos went to his shoulders as Prowl's worried gaze settled on him. Both of them looked at the same time back at the house, where the Lord's eldest and far most cruel creation emerged.

"A-Ah'm…sorry." Jazz said, his ventilations taking in the much needed air properly. He leaned heavily on Prowl and felt the other youngling pull him closer, wings spread behind them in an instinctive move to protect them.

"What will he do to us?" Prowl whispered. His fear was so obvious that Jazz wanted to cry and shield him from what's to come.

"Depends what mood he's in." Jazz whispered back and couldn't help but press even closer to Prowl, burying his helm in the crook of the other's neck, "Best case: we don't fuel for a couple of orns. Worst case…" Jazz didn't want to think of all the worst things they could do to them.

Prowl whimpered and Jazz couldn't help but echo it. No matter how mature they were at mind, they were younglings still. And nothing would change that.

Yet, the fact that they were younglings meant nothing in this house.

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Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and alerts! They make me grin so hard :D Also a big thank you to silberstreif who looked this over for me! ^^

TBC.


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